This City Never Sleeps, The Creed Never Dies
by Atindle72
Summary: Follow the story of Aaron Masterson, cousin to Desmond Miles, as he ventures through the streets of New York City battling the Templar order. Aaron manages to make friends, form relationships, and build a brotherhood, despite his byronic nature. MODERN DAY SETTING
1. Chapter 1

**Hey readers. This is my first fan fiction story that I'm posting, but I hope everyone enjoys it. Anything to say about it? PM me with any questions or comments. **

**Follow the story of Aaron Masterson, cousin to Desmond Miles, as he starts to fight the Templars in New York City, and form his own brotherhood. This is a MODERN DAY story**

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

The city lights illuminate the rooftops around me. My hood drapes over my eyes slightly blocking my vision. The cold night air forces the hairs to stiffen on my neck. the blank face of the sky reflects my expression as I stare at the abyssal gap before me. I lean forward and push-off hard with my right foot, springing towards the raised ledge of the rooftop. My right foot lands on the raised part of the rooftop ledge, and I push-off hard. My body fully extended as i soar through the air to the rooftop a few feet shorter than the previous one. As my body flies through the nipping winter air of New York City, I can only think of one thing.

"Who am I?"

Because I am not Aaron Masterson. I feel as though there are many more people living inside me. I feel like Altair lbn-La'Ahad, I am Ezio Auditore da Firenze, I can feel Edward, and Connor Kenway in my mind.

I roll my body forward and my back makes contact with the garbage filled dumpster below. The dumpster rattles by my weight. The noise echoes through the poorly lit alley.

A mans startled voice rings out from under a single light illuminating a door way, about half way down the alley. His feet press against snow causing it to make a noise with each step. The footsteps get closer, and a shadow moves on the wall in front of me. The mans footsteps slow down. I can feel his nerves getting the better of him. Another light flickers on. This one comes front the barrel of the shadow that resembles a sub-machine gun. I quietly position myself properly. The light spins around the corner and blinds me momentarily but my hand flies instinctively towards it. My right hand makes contact with the barrel shoving it to the left, while my left hand immediately flings towards the young mans neck. The spring loaded blade jolts from the gap in-between my wrist and sleeve, then enters the boys adam's apple and protrudes through the other side. The blade severs the spinal cord, cutting off the nerves to his finger….that holds the trigger. The boy is slung into the dumpster, and his MP5 fully automatic sub-machine gun, kicked under the dumpster sloppily.

The snow falls slowly as I approach the brightly lit doorway. I push back the side of my robes, and pull out my favorite weapon. A silenced 45. caliber M1911 pistol. One bullet puts out the light, and hides me in the shadows from any possible cameras. I turn and pull on the door knob….locked. On one knee I reach behind my robes to the back of my belt and pull out my lock pick. Simply enough, and with a little pressure the lock pops, and opens. The door slowly creeks open and I slip inside, making sure i am not seen.

The warehouse seems empty, but voices can be heard bouncing off the walls. Only a few rows of lights are on for a few men who remain in the building. I sprint forward and begin to clamber my way up a near by tower of shelving, full of wooden crates, and cardboard boxes. I make it to the top unseen. My shoulders begin to ache as I crouch on the top of the shelving. More voices. Creeping along the top shelf allows for maximum view, and minimum exposure. I lay down and crawl to the edge of the shelf. Three men stand around a table with one of the large wooden boxes on it. The top already opened and is leaning against the table. Guns scatter the box, M9 pistols, various sub-machine guns, and assault rifles. The men are all marked with a red, iron cross tattoo on the top of their right hand.

"Now that we've got the shipment taken care of, it is time to get to the more important business." A tall, bulky, bald man says as he clicks the loaded clip into an assault rifle. Another man uses a dolly to wheel another wooden box to the men, but this one remains upright. The man who spoke earlier walks to the back of the box. He raises his foot and kicks hard, snapping the boards, and pushing the blood covered victim out of the nailed down lid.

A woman covered in blood lays beaten on the concrete floor in front of the men. Two of the trio laugh hysterically as the woman cringes after the impact. Her white robes spattered with what looks like her own blood. My hand automatically shoots to my hip, grabbing the grip of my M1911.

"This little assassin SLUT decided to snoop around Angel's house last night. And he wants us to take care of her."

The dark-haired woman's assassins crest is tattooed on the side of her neck.

I stand up and leap forward grabbing hold of one of the over head rafters and crouch with my hands between my feet, holding on to the lip of the rafter.

"Now….." The larger of the three grunts as her pulls the woman up to his face by the front of her under shirt. "Where is the assassins safe house?"

The woman opens her eyes just enough to recognize the face of the man. Then spits blood into it face. The man grunts with rage and spins around slamming her into the open crate in the table.

I reach behind me for the rope dart which is slung over my back like a bandolier.

"Getting real sick of your shit!" The brute yells out as he cocks the bolt back on his G36C assault rifle. I pull my right arm back, dart in hand. My arm goes forward like throwing a baseball as a kid. The dart flies and pierces the goliath's right shoulder. I pull hard with both hands. The unexpected force spins the beast around. Simultaneously I reach for my now holstered pistol. One shot into his left elbow causes him to drop the rifle. The other two raise their weapons and begin to fire into the shadows around me. Another round pierces his right knee immobilizing him. I dive forward and grab onto another rafter. Now swinging through the space of the warehouse, the scattered gunfire focuses on my location. I drop towards one of the men. His pistol fire becomes more and more inaccurate as I get closer. Like the robes that cover me, his fear consumes him. With one swift motion the hidden blade on my left wrist enters the mans chest. I watch his eyes as the pupils dilate, and the life begins to leave him. The other man reacts faster than expected. His barrel now pointed at me as I try to leap away. The man's face turns blank as he falls to the side. The gun in his hands smack the ground and bounces like a coin. The woman is now sitting up on the table. Her arm fully extended and a knife sheath on her ankle is showing, and empty. The woman pants hard for a moment, then falls forward in a fainting motion. I dash forward in enough time to catch her before she comes off the table completely.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2: The Few

One arm goes over my right shoulder, and my left hand fits on her left side conveniently. The dark haired girl hangs motionless with my support. Her eyes still closed, dried blood covering her upper lip. I drag her out the door and through the low lighting of the alley. A single car is parked on the street. An older ford truck, silver chipped paint job. I drag the mysterious girl over to the withered truck. Her brown eyes barley visible now as she squints her eyes with what little strength she has left. I pull on the passenger side door, locked.

I place one hand behind my back searching for my lock pick when like a sudden burst, blue and red lights begin to flash to my left.

"PUT YOUR HANDS UP!" The officer booms through the loud speaker.

I put both hands up, palms facing the blinding lights. The sound of two cars doors shutting is the only sign of movement around. One officer grabs a hold of the unconscious woman, while the other keeps his gun pointed to my head. I can feel an aggravated rage growing. The officer shoving the barrel of a Glock 19 handgun in my face barks for me to turn around. I comply. The officer begins to frisk my torso quickly with a sense of caution. As he reaches my belt I know something has to happen. The officer's fingers graze the grip of my M1911. I bring my raised elbow down hard on the officers neck, stunning his vision for a fraction of a second. Just enough time to turn 180 degrees and bring my right knee up hard into his hair covered face. As he flies back from the impact, his fu man chu mustache is splattered with the blood gushing from his nose. The other officer turns dropping the girl and reaching for his pistol. I follow suit with my left hand, and grab the flailing officer in front of me with the other. Now we are at a stale mate. The end of my suppressor is flush with the chubby face of the bleeding officer while the other drips sweat from his own pudgy cheek.

"This will be very simple. My friend is unconscious. You put down the gun. I walk away with the girl. You come back for your things when you don't see us anymore." I negotiate with a superior tone

"Alright lets just calm down here." The officer says as he lowers his gun to the ground.

"Back away from the girl."

The officer's mouth open, breathing heavily from the stress, begins to slowly creep backwards. I drop the officer, his heap of a body smacks the ground and bends in an unnatural way. Still with the gun in hand I walk forward and kick the officers gun into the street about ten yards away. I bend down and grab the girl by her robes, and pull her up to me. The tension in the air is thick, and almost overwhelming. I holster my pistol and begin to drag the motionless body towards the truck again.

"Aziz….?" The whimper in the girls voice is heartbreaking.

My eyes focus on the officer who is now all the way behind the squad car. With my right elbow I shatter the passenger window to the truck, and open the door from the inside. The officer with a caterpillar curled around his lip groans in agony. The girls light frame is easily placed in the passenger seat. I turn her legs in to avoid any more injuries to her. Eyes still focused on each other. The Mexican standoff feel is almost theatrical. I move around the vehicle slowly and pick the drivers side lock. The door swing open and I jump in. My head turned away but my eyes are still shooting into the core of the officer through the rearview mirror. I slip my lock pick into the ignition and fumble around a bit before truck will turn over. Finally the engine roars, and I slam the gas pedal down hard. Tires squeal and the truck flies down the abandoned road. The light still shinning bright behind us. I pull onto a ramp and meet with a highway with little traffic. Now it's a race against time to get home and help this mysterious woman. She leans to the left and falls motionless into the middle seat. The insignia of the Assassin Order now showing on the side of her neck. I sit somewhat startled. I always knew the numbers remaining in the order were slim, and I never expected to find another assassin here. I pass a few small cars and hang a right into a suburb of the city. Buildings slowly become trees, and the city lights begin to fade. Only the light of the moon illuminates these roads.

A large mansion like structure on a distant hill holds a special kind of dignity to it. But as the door flies open, and dust rolls of the walls the dignity quickly disappears. Over a burnout fire place hangs a portrait of a man, gray hair, chiseled jaw, strong neck. That man is William Miles. Beside him is a boy, young, same jaw, but a slimmer figure. That boy is Desmond Miles. I light a nearby candle and walk towards the staircase. The woman begins to awaken, but not yet enough to move.

"Who are you?" She asks in a fear stricken voice

"Call me Aaron." I replied.

I lay her down in the first bedroom I can find. The floors are so untouched that they too have a thick film of dust over them. Once she is tucked in properly, I make a trek down the steps. As I reach for the railing I feel a sharp pain shooting through my arm. My robes have a hole through the bicep. I peel back the clothes in a pain-filled jerk. Dried blood surrounds a hole the size of a 9mm bullet. I roll my eyes in an annoyed fashion. But the pain is more than what I let myself see. I reach the kitchen and shed the robes and shirt off of my torso. I feel the back of my arm to find a second hole, also rimmed with dried blood.

"Thank God." I think to myself

I pull on a drawer in the middle of the island. The drawer comes our a little then catches. The island slowly shifts to the left and a stone staircase is now visible. I make my way down the staircase, candle still in hand. The cobwebs litter the narrow walls all the way down. A light switch at the end of the staircase once flipped illuminates an arsenal of computers, firearms, names, files, and much more. In the center of the room is the insignia of the creed tiled into the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3: My Safe Haven

I shed the plate carrier under my robes and re-check the wound on my bicep. Muscle tissue is visible. I rummage through a first aid cabinet on the wall for some bandage wrap. The khaki cloth falls onto the ground during my rushed pace.

"I've lost a bit of blood!" I thought to myself as I bent over to pick up the wrap. My back, aches and my knees pop loudly.

The sound of footsteps behind me at first seems like a figment of my imagination. They're so quiet; they wouldn't belong to anyone but someone like me. The moment I realize what is going on it's too late. An arm comes up from underneath my left shoulder, and swings my arm into the air. The same hand flies behind my head and grabs the back of my neck immobilizing my arm.

"What in the motherly fuck are you doing?!" I bark as the woman places the blade of a kitchen knife against the side of my neck.

"Tell me who you are and what you're doing and you won't die slowly. " Her British accent is thick

"Uhm, closing the hole in my arm?!" I yell back angrily

"Who are you?" She grits her teeth and pulls tighter with her arm pushing the ligaments of my shoulder to their limits.

"My name is Aaron Masterson."

"Where are we?"

"My uncles manor. Just outside of the city."

The woman peers around and notices the insignia on the floor. She drops my arm. "I'm sorry." She replies as she releases my shoulder

"It's fine." I grunt as I roll the socket back in a comfortable position.

"So you did all this?" she asks as she roams the room in astonishment.

"Hmm," I chuckle slightly "No this was mostly build by my uncle, William Miles."

"William Miles….. Any relation to a Demsond Miles?"

"That's his son."

"So you have the same DNA as them?"

"Don't worry we've already tried. The animus 2.0 only accepted my DNA up until Connor Kenway, an assassin during the revolutionary war era. Then for some reason it began to reject me as a legitimate subject."

"Damn," She said annoyed.

"But I have relived all the previous assassins. Ezio was my favorite particularly."

"Ezio Auditore da Firenze?"

"Yes ma'am. You know him?"

"My ancestors did."

A smirk on her faces raises question on the liking of that particular ancestor.

"So you're an assassin who uses guns?"

"Why is that so odd?"

"Well masters never teach about firearms."

"I wasn't trained by a master. William Miles was the one who told me about my ancestry, and then with the help of the bleeding effect, I was able to hone my skills as an assassin. The guns were my own twist on this tale."

"I didn't know there were any other assassins in New York."

I giggle under my breath

"What's so funny?" she asks smiling a bit herself

"Nothing, the way you say New York is uh…..cute."

She rolls her deep brown eyes still smiling.

"I think I need to introduce you to someone." She insists.

I finish the bandage wrap and tie the end with another piece to hold it down. I turn around and look in the mirror to see if the wrap covers the needed area. The custom insignia tattoo on my chest glimmers with sweat.

"Does he know how to treat a bullet wound?"

"Today all Obstergo is, is a bunch of thugs with guns, and Angel behind the curtain. "

"Who is this Angel guy y=I hear about?"

"You don't know who Jeremiah Angel is?"

I shrug my shoulders in confusion. A deep pain presses against my right arm.

"Jeremiah Angel is the one man who has wiped ninety percentile of us off the face of this planet. He used to be a part of the order. He was tested on by Obstergo, and the order itself. One day he refused to go back in the animus. He refused to live someone else's life. So he abandoned the order with all the knowledge of our ways. As soon as he walked out the door he became a ghost to us. But a few years ago he resurfaced as the new head research director at Obstergo industries. He's been hunting down and killing us one by one ever since. Now the only ones that are still alive to my knowledge would be myself, you and Aziz.

"Wait who's Aziz?"

"He's your new best friend. Between him and I, we've gathered enough information on Angel, and obstergo to find out their next move. They've already taken out most of the order. So now they're going to look for the next piece of Eden."

"Next piece? I thought there were only two, the apple and the staff."

"That's what we thought too, but we pulled some files from Obstergo labs and we found some information from subject 16 hinting towards a third piece of Eden. Obstergo has had excavation crews all over the country looking for this final piece…..If you weren't after Angel, than why were you at the warehouse last night."

"Last night?" I think to myself as I raise my watch to where it becomes visible.

"3:34 a.m."

"I do my own research on thugs around the city. Ever since William left I haven't had much luck finding many obstergo files. All their fire walls, and access codes have been updated again, and I don't have the skill set to crack them. The warehouse was my chance to interrogate one of those thugs to giving me the file code, but I had other matters at hand." I cock my head to one side and peer at the girl with eyebrows raised.

"Speaking of matters at hand, who are you mysterious box lady?" I ask with enough humor in my voice to not make this question awkward.

"My name is Olivia McTavish. Ex-royal air force, initiated and trained by my own mother, Susan. I've never been in an animus before. But my mum was subject 47 at the London obstergo. She learned from her ancestors and I learned from her."

"Nice to meet you Olivia."

She smiles and blushes slightly as she turns her head away. I smile back and look down at my mud covered boots.

"Yes, but we need to go back into the city."

"To meet this Aziz guy?"

"Yes exactly. He is going to become your new boss, and he will lead us against obstergo."

"Alright, I've never been a part of a team but we'll see how this goes."

She stops and turns to look at my eyes. With a sense of anger in her voice she peers deep into my core, cold chills run down my spine.

"We are much more than a team…..We are a force to be reckoned with. We are the saviors of our people, and we are the protectors of the creed. But even above all that, we're friends, a family…a brotherhood."

Adrenaline flows through me like the attire I shed earlier. I feel all my ancestors almost foaming at the mouth for an opportunity like this.

We make our way back up the staircase. My plate carrier is over my torso, and my shirt and robes fit nicely over it. Olivia slings open the door as if she expects and army of armed swordsman to be standing in uniform, waiting for an order to charge. I walk behind he sluggishly. She opens the drivers side door, and slides into the seat. I smile because she thinks I left the key in the ignition. But I took it with me inside when I put her…. The engine roars. I stop in my tracks, amazed. I shoot my hand in my pants pocket where I left the keys. I grab a hold of something and pull it out. The key ring is the only piece of the set that remains. She smiles at me through the windshield and waves her hand in a "C'mon" motion.

I open the passenger side door, and hop into the truck. Olivia turns the key over. The engine roars, and lights from the dash illuminate the dark cab. She pulls down on the gearshift, and hits the gas pedal hard. Her eyes glued to the rearview mirror. I can feel the wind smacking against my face. If I knew it would be like this, I wouldn't have smashed this window earlier. The Miles Manor grows smaller and smaller with every second until we reach the bottom of the hill. The tires screech, my body is thrown forward. I hurry to reach for my seatbelt and pull it down before the British speed demon beside me decides to take off again. But it's to late. The tires spin, and the vehicle flies forward towards the city. The trees slowly turn into streetlights, and the hills into concrete, and skyscrapers. Olivia takes a few sharp turns and heads down a long stretch of dim streetlights and dark alleys. A flickering neon "open" sign shines brightest in this place. The truck comes to a halt and Olivia shuts down the engine. The driver's side door pops open, and she jumps out. I follow suit and clamber out of the passenger side. A sharp pain shoots through my arm, an oh so nice reminder of my injury. I manage to make my way around the truck and watch at Olivia opens the door, a bell on the top of the door rings as the door is opened.

"Plain Sight Pub" is printed on the glass on either side of the door. I walk forward, and reach for the door handle. As the door swings open the first thing I notice is the phrase "_Verus Nullus, Omnis Licitus_" on a decorative plaque hanging over the bar. The walls are plain, the tv is small. But the rear wall behind the bar is filled to the brim with drink. A caramel colored man stands behind the counter, apron on. He preforms stereotypical bartender duties, washing out glasses while the pretty lady sits down. They begin having a conversation while I approach the pair. The bartender glances quickly at me then looks back at Olivia and shakes his head. I lower my hood with my left hand, and try not to hint that my right one is limp at the moment.

"What'll you have?" The bartender asks as I pull a stool out from under the extended lip of the bar.

"Something strong." I reply straight faced. Showing no form of emotion.

He reaches under the counter and pulls on a bottle of whiskey. Olivia turns and looks at me.

"Aaron…..This is Aziz."


End file.
